It Must Be Summer

Memorial Day has come and gone, and by both tradition and popular acclamation, that means it’s officially summer.

I mean, technically, it’s not. Summer is a specific term denoting the warmest of the four seasons, and here in the good ol’ US of A (as well as most of the northern hemisphere, although there are some cultural differences), the season officially begins on the summer solstice (this year it’s June 20) and runs to the autumnal equinox (September 22). So no, summer has not officially started, and will not start for another three weeks.

But screw that. It’s June, and at least here in Philadelphia, we’ve already had multiple days where it’s reached 90°. Memorial Day has come and gone, meaning pools are open, schools are either winding down or have shuttered for the summer, and we’re all finally allowed to wear white again.

A quick personal note on Memorial Day. Although not officially recognized as a national holiday until 1967, the day has a long history of memorializing those who have passed in the line of military service, at least as far back as Decoration Day in 1868. Regardless of the origins, I agree that it’s important to honor and remember those who have fallen in service to their country, making the ultimate sacrifice as they engage in their duties.

But lately, I’ve had mixed feelings about how Memorial Day has been used as a political tool. I imagine this phenomenon is nothing new, since nothing politicians can use to further their careers and/or agendas is left alone. If anything, it’s simply me once again late to the party, showing up without an invitation and telling everyone why they’re here.

Let me just say that…performativity isn’t the sole province of the left. It can be frustrating to navigate the maze of demands placed on us by overly proactive social movements, even if they come from a good place. Too often, the intent of these groups—or much more often individuals—is to take part in a status play. They make demands not because they want to enact real and meaningful change, but because it makes them feel better about themselves, and gives them a sense of superiority over the simpletons who don’t or can’t share their views.

Of course, the right-wing side of the spectrum does this at least as much as their counterparts on the left, and this is never so clear as when it comes to discussing the military. Just as some on the left can fetishize identity politics to the utter destruction of actual meaning, the right lionizes the military as the American par excellence. In their view, to be American is to internalize the concept of the military itself—although it’s never quite clear what that means. 

In action, though, this means that any questions of how the military is structured, or how the nation chooses to deploy the military, is tantamount to questioning America itself, which really gets the Love It or Leave It crowd going. “How dare you question our boys in uniform?” they ask. “It’s their bravery that protects our interests, and having any doubt in the purity or execution of that mission is the highest form of disrespect!”

Perhaps this fetish is why so many people of this mindset fall all over themselves to thank every single veteran they meet for their service. 

Listen, let me be clear. I am thankful for the members of the military. They do a job that no one really wants to do, and without the volunteers entering the armed forces, we would all be serving. They do an unpleasant job, and they put their lives on the line to do it. I have never been in combat, and I hope never to be, and for people out there, for whatever reason, to walk into that line of fire, takes a kind of courage I cannot begin to imagine. They do deserve our thanks, not just on holidays but all year round.

So why do I have a problem with people thanking the veterans they meet? Well, for one, the vast majority of veterans I’ve seen thanked this way look tremendously uncomfortable. Maybe they don’t want to be reminded of their service time. Maybe they just don’t want to talk to randos. Maybe they’ve heard the same words a thousand times before. Or maybe it’s a sense that these words of thanks are not entirely for the veterans, but are mostly, in fact, for the benefit of the speakers.

I suspect that for many people, this outpouring of thanks to anyone who’s served in the military is more about making a performative act, one that says I’m doing my part in service to my country by thanking you for doing yours. With those simple words, “thank you for your service,” these folks obviate the need to take any other actions to serve their country themselves. Plus, anyone else who witnessed said thanking knows where they stand, that they’re all in on team America, and damn you if you question me.

Again, if you want to thank a veteran, please do. I have absolute gobs of gratitude for those in the armed forces. But if you really want to thank a veteran, then maybe you should try doing something real for them. Demand that your representatives in Congress provide better for our soldiers, both in and out of uniform. Give them better pay, and more benefits. Give them better healthcare once they leave the military—believe me, the VA could be much, much, much better. Phone your reps and senators, and tell them that soldiers need to be treated better, need to receive support that more fully accords with the sacrifices they’re making for the country—and for us individually. Put your money where your mouth is.

Ahem.

Thanks for allowing me that digression. In reality, this post is less about Memorial Day than it is about summer, because this one is shaping up to be pretty dang packed. I may be a little in and out as we go through the summer months, and I wanted to lay out exactly what we’ve got planned. That way, when I’m skimpy on the words, you all know why.

Reunion With the 8-Man

During my time at Wittenberg, there was one off-campus dwelling that was so unusual, so rambunctious, and so…well, just so fun, that among our group of peers, it took on the only title that would fit: The 8-Man. The house was originally broken up into two apartments, but a group of eight (obviously) fellas got together and rented both halves, creating a nest of chaos that resonates through my memory to this very day—and I didn’t even live there.

There are a lot of wild stories from those days, not the ribald tales of violence and nudity and fratty stupidity inspired by the likes of Animal House, but wild nuttiness that by no means relied on alcohol for fuel.* Oh, there was alcohol, of course, but there were plenty more nights were we just hung out on the couch in the attic, watching Nick GAS (Games and Sports) until the wee hours of the morning. And it was magical.

* I remember Homecoming my senior year, when we were visited by some alumni who had lived in the college-owned house we were currently living in. They told what I’m sure seemed to them to be fun and wild stories, but to us they were just pointlessly boring and destructive. Like how they used to throw eggs at one of the walls just because. Why…why would you do that? In the place where you lived? And how is that, like…fun?

Since those days, we’ve gotten together every five years, in a series of reunions organized by Dan, whose math-centric brain is probably the best suited to this kind of task. And this year just happens to be five years since our last gathering. So in June, me and eight other fellows will be headed to a cabin in southern Ohio, where we’ll spend four days or so reconnecting, playing good board games, eating good food, playing good music, and maybe having a beer or two along the way.

In the interest of full disclosure, not all of those nine guys lived in the 8-Man. In fact, I think only about half of those attending were residents. But the 8-Man was so much more than the actual house. It was a kind of stand-in for the entire social group, and I’m glad it’s continuing to live on twenty years later. The only thing I wish? That we could do these reunions more often. I know it’s an expense and an undertaking, but if you miss one of the reunions, that means it’s a decade before you get to join in the festivities again. Maybe in the future we’ll figure it out. After all, this life is only so long, and we should do what we can to squeeze all possible joy from it.

Beach Beach

Speaking of sorta-annual events, this year marks our third beach trip with another Wittenberg-related crew. This one is made up of my roommates from my senior year. We all lived in a house on campus, which I wanted to call the Mason-Dixon house but which they preferred to call by the address, 152. Why the Mason-Dixon house? The other three girls were all from the Salem-Roanoke, Virginia area, while I was from Ohio. But apparently it had “negative connotations” that I “couldn’t possibly understand” and also “Really, Frank? Just stop it.”

On our previous trips, we’ve driven down to the Outer Banks of North Carolina, securing a house right on the beach that, when split amongst the group of us, becomes an eminently affordable way to get some beachfront fun. We spend scads of hours on the beach, of course, but we also play board games and eat and drink and laugh. And my wife and I play tennis with Mike and Katie, none of us amazing at tennis but all of them better than me. And it’s phenomenal.

Our last beach trip was in 2022, and this two-year gap is closer to what we’d all like to keep in mind going forward. It’s a bit of a challenge, of course, but thus far we’ve found a way to prioritize this particular developing tradition, and for my part I hope we keep it going as long as absolutely possible. This year, we’re heading to a new location, Oak Island, which Katie has assured us all kicks the OBX in the ass. Knowing how much ass Katie kicks, I’m pretty excited to see how right she is.

Back Down South

One of the less fun things coming up this summer is my next trip to Florida. I’ve been here in Philly since March, and I’ve made it a point to put a little distance between me and the place that’s come to represent so much frustration and…well, other negative feelings. But time rolls on, and this July I know I’m going to have to go back and take care of some things.

First and foremost, mom has had to move facilities. Her needs have escalated beyond what her original facility was capable of providing, and so a few weeks ago, she transferred. I’m unsure what this new facility is like, but I hope to learn more in the next few days during the first care meeting with the staff. What I do know is the transition has been difficult, and while things seem to have calmed down a bit, I’m not sure what kind of situation I’ll be dealing with when I see her.

Other than mom, there are plenty of things to do around the house down there. The bushes I leveled in October have grown extensively, and I’ll have bags and bags of landscaping refuse for pickup by the time I’m done. Other projects will suggest themselves while I’m down there too, although what those will be is yet to be determined. In any case, I hope to find mom in good spirits, and I’ll do whatever is in my power to make that the case.

Another National Park

Last fall, my wife and I spent several days hiking around Olympic National Park, and it was phenomenal. Five days wasn’t nearly enough, even though I spent five separate days writing about it in this blog. This year, we’re returning to the national parks, this time on the East Coast. 

In September, we’ll be heading north to spend several days at Acadia, and I am stoked. I’ve never been to Maine, but I’ve heard it’s beautiful, and from what I’ve heard about Acadia itself, we’re in for a real treat. Of course, my excitement pales in comparison to my wife’s, who’s been reading books about trails and landmarks for months already. We haven’t planned the exact details, but we know for sure the highlights we’re planning to hit. Believe me, excitement is only going to grow as the weeks tick closer.

---

That’s not all of the summer, of course. There are tons of little things we’ll be doing here and there, both in Philadelphia and across the surrounding area. But the summer is also a great time for dinner on the porch, or beers at breweries. It’s good for festivals and food trucks and walking the trails that are much closer to us than Maine. Summer means daylight, and with daylight comes opportunity. And I don’t want to waste a single second of it.